


都是你的错

by lexdivina



Category: Forgotten Realms
Genre: M/M
Language: 中文-普通话 國語
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26833663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexdivina/pseuds/lexdivina
Summary: 陈年老文, with English translation in the second Chapter. Translated into English by Thirtyfiveowls.
Relationships: Jarlaxle Baenre/Artemis Entreri
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

“都是你的错。”带着某种程度的固执，恩崔立闷闷不乐地指责道。

“我可不是那个把他变成尸体的人。”贾拉索撅了撅嘴，露出一副委屈的表情——明显是装的。

若是忽略前因后果，这话倒是的确不假。两秒钟前，恩崔立才刚刚从吟游诗人的背后拔出了他那把标志性的宝石匕首，刃锋上的鲜血依然散发着热腾腾的腥味。

人类向他的同伴抛去一记眼刀。

“如果不是你非要……”他刚要发话，后面的抱怨却被一阵欢呼声掩盖了过去。今年恰好轮到这座小城负责举办一场当地居民颇为重视的巡回式节日狂欢，在任期间得此殊荣，城主自是倾尽全力，邀请到不少身怀特技的艺人前来捧场助兴。庆典广场周围挤满了人，从衣衫褴褛的乡野流民、穿金戴银的达官显贵，到风尘仆仆的异乡旅者，各色人等一应俱全。就连附近的几条主路，也因为较高的地势正好俯瞰着广场而被人流堵了个水泄不通。不过，从好的一方面来看，除此之外的其他地方则倍显清冷——例如恩崔立和贾拉索所在的这条小巷——以至于完全没有人注意到他们这场发生在光天化日之下的激烈打斗。

欢呼声消退了一些。

“如果不是你非要来看热闹……”恩崔立刚要继续说下去，人群中又爆发出另一阵震耳欲聋的欢呼。杀手只得再次收住话头，用吟游诗人华丽的斗篷擦了擦沾满鲜血的匕首，收剑入鞘。

半分钟后。

“如果不是……”恩崔立开口。只可惜整座城市都在和他作对；他的第三次尝试失败得比前两次都快。杀手看着笑得一脸幸灾乐祸的贾拉索，挫败地踢了面前的尸体一脚。

**如果不是你非要来看热闹，我们根本就不会遇到上次任务时结下的仇人。** 他只能愤愤不平地在心里把这句话说完。等到喧闹再次平息，杀手已经失去和贾拉索继续斗嘴的兴趣了。

“乐观点儿，吾友。”贾拉索走上前来，假意安慰道，“如此一来，我们也算是一劳永逸地除掉了这个纠缠不休家伙。戴夫·迪尤虽然是个小麻烦，但总归还是个麻烦。”

面对卓尔近乎甜蜜的灿烂微笑，恩崔立忍不住翻了个白眼。“快把尸体藏起来，蠢货。”他说，“然后离开这个像苍蝇一样烦人的城市。”

可喜的是，他的要求似乎立即得到了回应。贾拉索从缀满花边的灯笼袖里抽出一根法杖，轻轻一挥，地上的鲜血顿时消失无踪，被打斗带翻的杂物也自动堆回到了墙边。然后他不紧不慢地将法杖别进袖口里，解下胸前的纽扣，手腕轻轻一抖，一个次元洞凭空出现。卓尔佣兵在尸体面前蹲了下来，揪着吟游诗人的领子把他塞到了次元洞里。

次元洞重新缩成纽扣大小，贴回到了卓尔的丝绸衬衣上。

“所以，把尸体藏起来。”贾拉索站起身，弹了弹那枚不起眼的扣子，向杀手望来。他伸出的右手里正躺着四枚戒指、一副耳环和两串项链，明显是趁着刚才敛尸的功夫从吟游诗人身上剥下的。一时之间，恩崔立不知是该惊叹于贾拉索搜刮战利品的速度，还是该感慨于戴夫·迪尤和贾拉索高度相似的审美品位。但最后，他什么都没说，只从那堆首饰里挑了个看似最简朴的戒指戴到了自己的左手中指上。

贾拉索也戴上了一枚镶着红宝石的戒指，剩下的则被他胡乱装进了腰包里，等到鉴别出了上面的附魔之后再做处置——他们早就习惯了这样分赃。

“现在让我们离开这个像苍蝇一样烦人的城市。”恩崔立说道。

他正要动身，却被卓尔一把抓住了小臂。

“我可从来没同意过，亲爱的阿提密斯。”贾拉索眨了眨眼，“既然已经除掉了碍事的家伙，我们为什么不按照原计划看看此地的美景呢？”

“我希望……”一阵欢呼。

恩崔立清了清嗓子。

“我希望你还记得……”又是一阵欢呼。杀手怒吼一声；他忍不住开始怀疑一整座城市的居民都是贾拉索雇来的走狗。专门阻止他和贾拉索吵架的走狗。

只除了，考虑到他从未在和卓尔的吵架中占过上风，贾拉索实在是没什么必要做这种安排。

尽管杀手一向自制力惊人，但面对着市民们无意之中锲而不舍的挑衅，怒火还是终于盖过了理智。恩崔立少见地大叫了起来。“总而言之，都是你的错。”他扯开嗓子，竭尽全力让声音盖过喧闹的人群，“我一秒钟也不想在这个蠢地方继续呆下去！”

回答他的不是卓尔，而是从身后传来的脚步声。恩崔立刚刚来得及摆出防御架势，一个肥胖的身影就从墙角后面转了过来。

胖子身着盛装，法兰绒大氅上镶着一圈貂毛，丝绸衬衣的下摆勉强塞在嵌了黄金的腰带里；及膝马靴紧紧裹住他圆墩墩的小腿，支撑住他想必十分可观的体重。七八个打扮同样华丽的士兵在他身后站成半圆，像是一道开了屏的孔雀尾巴。

恩崔立的双手移向剑柄，却被贾拉索制止住了。“城主。”卓尔凑在他耳边轻声说，宽宽的帽檐滑过杀手的头顶；然后他还没忘添上一句：“这次可是你的错。”

没等恩崔立反驳，城主的目光就落在了他左手的戒指上。他的眼睛顿时笑成了一道缝。

“迪尤先生！终于找到您了！”城主热切地说，“我刚一收到您的风讯——听说您遇到了敌人——就立即带人来帮您了！”

说到这里，他才后知后觉地脸色一变。“难道敌人就是这个黑暗精灵？”

“呃……”意识到对方不知为何竟将自己认成了那个刚刚丧命的吟游诗人，恩崔立一时语塞。

“不是我，当然不是我。我什么要和你们这座美丽的小城作对？”贾拉索抢着说，“所谓的敌人已经……被解决掉了。我是这位先生的……搭档。”他拍了拍恩崔立的肩膀，继续说道，“顺便一问，您应该从没见过戴夫·迪尤吧？您又是怎么确定自己没有认错人呢？”

“那枚戒指。”城主不疑有他，得意洋洋地回答，“之前和迪尤先生通信时，他落款和封蜡的图案都和那枚戒指一模一样。”

“就是你的错。”恩崔立瞥了一眼自己的左手，微微向贾拉索侧过头去，咬牙切齿地低声说道。

“戒指是你自己挑的，宝贝儿。”贾拉索眨了眨眼，“所以还是你的错。”

“我打搅到二位了吗？”城主揉搓着胖乎乎的手指，困惑不已。

“您屈尊亲临，我们又怎么会因此而受到打搅？”贾拉索摘下宽檐帽，动作优雅地深鞠一躬。

“但如果您能屈尊离开，我们必定还会更加开心。”恩崔立一拍不漏地接了上去，“幸会，再会。”

“等、等等，迪尤先生！”见恩崔立这就要转身，城主急忙叫道，“让您在我们的小城中遇到敌人，我们深感抱歉。但您想必不会立即就走吧？”

“正是如此。”恩崔立说；于此同时贾拉索则答道：“当然不会。”

杀手狠狠瞪着卓尔，卓尔则回以近乎乖巧的微笑。

“我本不愿这么说，”城主带着他的一众守卫转到恩崔立面前，“但我尚未见到您时就已经预付了五百枚金币的酬金，此地居民早就知道会有一位才艺出众的吟游诗人出席庆典，一直对您的表演翘首以盼。若是您现在食言，拿不到另外一千枚金币还是小事，只怕更会有损于您的美名啊！”

恩崔立花了半分钟时间来理解这番话。

“我才不会像小丑一样取悦一群愚蠢的农民！”他怒吼。

城主仍在勉强维持着笑容，这让他的表情变得十分扭曲。他身后的守卫显然没有这么好的涵养，纷纷摸向腰间的武器，其中几人甚至逼上前来。

“让我们别这么早就下定结论。”贾拉索上前一步，向士兵们做出一个安抚的手势。“好先生，我们怀着期待的心情来到这座洋溢着幸福气氛的小城，却被意料之外的仇家败坏了兴致，心情烦躁自然在所难免，请您多多谅解。”看到城主的怒意似乎有所缓和，贾拉索露出了一个灿烂的微笑；他向恩崔立眨了眨眼，用一种别有所指的诡异语气继续说道，“而我的这位同伴，最善于将半分怒火表现成十分，只为了确认对方是否拥有足够的诚意。”

恩崔立正犹豫着要不要勃然大怒反唇相讥，却一眼看见了卓尔正在快速闪动的纤细手指。

**我来应付所谓的表演。** 贾拉索以卓尔手语示意，身体恰好挡住了旁人的视线。 **除非你想把整座城市都夷为平地。**

于是，杀手在城主询问的目光中默默点了点头。

#

无论对自己的卓尔同伴有多少不满，恩崔立依然无法否认他的魅力。精致的短斗篷随风轻舞，插在宽檐帽的大羽毛随着他的动作而不住摇晃，益发衬托出贾拉索如同长鞭般纤细而柔韧的身躯。那些繁复冗赘的浮夸装饰也因为他优雅的动作而备显高雅。事实上，这名卓尔佣兵的存在感要远远超过恩崔立见过的任何人——而这绝不仅仅是得益于他引人注目的装扮和不同寻常的血统。令他鹤立鸡群的是一种绝对的自信，一种仿佛洞悉一切的智慧，一种因为无所畏惧而永远悠然自得的气质。

此时此刻，贾拉索正站在广场中央临时搭建的庆典舞台表演所谓的“魔术”。在恩崔立眼中，贾拉索不过是在以极快的速度和巧妙的手法作出一些令人眼花缭乱的抛接动作而已。杀手毫不怀疑自己也能做到这点，但他绝不可能取得相同的效果。

夸张的手势、极具煽动性的言辞，再加上几个简单却华丽的魔法幻象，贾拉索就这样让庆典的气氛达到了高潮，几乎可以说是不费吹灰之力。只见他手指一弹，两枚银币凌空而起，一对儿深紫色的影龙随之飞进半空，一边撕咬缠斗，一边攀向云端。及至接近视野边缘，它们终于咬住了彼此的要害。光点四散飞溅，龙身爆裂开来。紫色的烟火填满广场上空，继而如雪花般纷纷扬扬落向地面。

贾拉索刚露面时，整个广场都因为他的血统噤若寒蝉，但现在，这群镇民却为他欢呼尖叫，仿佛他是密斯特拉的圣者，泰摩拉的选民，带着魔法和欢笑来到了他们地处偏僻的小城镇。

恩崔立很少能体味愉悦，但此时此刻，当他看着一派泰然的贾拉索，总是眉头紧锁的脸上也不由露出了微笑。

“神奇的迪尤！”有人大叫。加入的人越来越多，很快，整个广场都在高呼戴夫·迪尤的名字。

站在舞台边缘的杀手不禁暗暗嗤笑。很显然，他们把本该由恩崔立顶替的名字安到了贾拉索的身上。至于真正的迪尤有何下场，他们更是一无所知。杀手瞥了眼城主，而城主恰好也向他望来，一脸尴尬。

“精彩的表演！”城主大喊，手忙脚乱地爬上舞台。

人群略微安静了一些。

“卓尔先生，”城主调侃道，“我们一直对迪尤先生满怀期待，但现在，我不得不怀疑他是否会被自己的搭档盖过风头了！”

不妙的预感油然而生，只可惜恩崔立没能想出在不把城主杀死或砍伤的前提下阻止他的方法。

“您的褒奖令我倍感荣幸。但迪尤先生擅长的是另一门技艺。”贾拉索说，“乐器的技艺。”

突然之间，所有人都回想起了城主最开始时的介绍词。上千道充满期盼的热切目光一同聚集在阿提密斯·恩崔立的身上。

即便是被克林辛尼朋那束与阳光同源的能量击中时，杀手也不曾感到这般热度。

#

“我恨你。”当晚，恩崔立坐在床边，愤愤说道。他把戒指从左手中指上摘下来，对准贾拉索洋溢着笑意的俊美面容，用力砸去。

卓尔歪了歪脑袋，毫不费力地接住了戒指。

“就因为我让你给我吹笛子？”佣兵头子笑着说，“我也给你唱了歌呀，吾友。”

身为剑湾一带最负有盛名的杀手，阿提密斯·恩崔立从未真正修习过吹奏木笛的技巧。但来自伊迪利亚之笛本身的魔法却为他的乐曲赋予了任何凡俗音乐都不可能企及的慑人魅力。不仅如此，仿佛是为了安抚羞愤交加的杀手，贾拉索还和着他的曲调唱了一首充满异国情调的卓尔歌曲。

事实证明，在一切涉及到舌头的活动上，贾拉索都可谓是出类拔萃。

不得不承认，卓尔佣兵的歌声的确平息了恩崔立的大半怒火——确切地说，平息他怒火的，是第一次听到贾拉索唱歌的事实。

“你让我给一群蠢货吹笛子。”杀手纠正道，“而你则是给一群蠢货唱了歌。”

贾拉索露出恍然大悟的神色——这个无害的表情令阿提密斯·恩崔立没来由地感到一阵惶恐。他想站起来，但卓尔比他更快一步。当他抬头望去，贾拉索已经站到了他的面前，柔和的阴影笼罩在他身上。

卓尔弯下腰，双唇在他耳边翘起一个暧昧的弧度。

“那就为我吹一下吧，”他轻声呢喃，纤细的手指掠过人类的下颌，“我会为你歌唱。”


	2. English Translation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translator: Thirtyfiveowls

**“All Your Fault”**

Translator: [Thirtyfiveowls](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Thirtyfiveowls)

“This is all your fault.” Entreri accused him with a certain degree of sullen stubbornness.

“I wasn’t the one who turned that guy into a corpse.” Jarlaxle pouted, putting on an innocent act that was clearly feigned.

Technically, ignoring the cause of it all, he wasn’t wrong. Mere two seconds ago, it was Entreri who had pulled his signature jeweled dagger out of the bard’s back, releasing a steamy metallic scent into the air unique only to freshly spilt blood.

The human gave his companion a harsh side-eye.

“If it wasn’t for you---” He had started to rant when a sudden burst of acclamation erupted over his voice. The town they were in happened to be responsible this year for preparing a rather universally celebrated carnival parade that was just about to start, a rarified responsibility for the man in office, the duke of the township, who took the matter extremely seriously, and invited a myriad of talented performers to join in the celebration. The town square was crowded with people; ragged country bumpkins, richly bedecked dignitaries, and strange, travel-stained foreigners. The main roads have pretty much been choked-off by crowds from all walks of life, who sought out higher ground for better access to the show. On the bright side, however, it had meant that anywhere else outside the square was destined to be desolate. For instance the alleyway, in which Entreri and Jarlaxle stood, where they were sure no one was paying enough attention to have noticed the deadly exchange that just went down.

The cheers died down slightly.

“If it wasn’t for you who insisted we come---” Entreri started again, and was immediately cut off by another round of deafening celebration. The assassin paused, bent over to wipe the blood off his dagger with the bard’s expensive robe, slid the blade back into its sheath, and waited anther 30 seconds.

“If it wasn’t---” Entreri opened his mouth. It was as if the entire town was just waiting to play some sort of joke on him. His third attempt was overwhelmed even faster than before. The assassin glared at Jarlaxle, who clearly enjoyed his defeat, and gave the corpse a swift kick in the back.

 _If it wasn’t for you who insisted we come watch the parade, we wouldn’t have run into our old enemy from the last mission._ He finished the sentence in his head somewhat begrudgingly. When the noises finally died down again, he had completely lost interest in continuing the conversation.

“Cheer up, my friend.” Jarlaxle walked up to him and offered feigned consolation, “Look at it this way, we have permanently eliminated another problem for the future. Dave Deau was a minor issue, sure, but an issue nonetheless.”

Entreri couldn’t help but to roll his eyes in response to the Drow’s sweet tongue, “Just take care of the body, idiot.” He said, “Let’s get out of this annoying fly swarm of a city.”

To his surprise, his demand was met with swift action. Jarlaxle pulled a wand from his embroidered bishop sleeve and effortlessly waved the bloody mess away; the pile of junk that had been knocked over and scattered all over the alley ground re-stacked themselves neatly against the wall. He then elegantly pocketed his wand, took one of the buttons off his shirt and threw it, creating a small portal. The Drow mercenary bent down over the lifeless corpse, took it by the collar, and pushed it headfirst into the portal.

The opening responsively returned to its button form and was stuck back onto Jarlaxle’s silk shirt.

“So, took care of the body.” He stood up looking over to the mercenary, flicking the unsuspicious shirt button. In the palm of his extended right hand laid four rings, a pair of earrings, and two necklaces, clearly somehow stripped off of the dead bard. For a second Entreri wasn’t sure if he should be impressed by Jarlaxle’s ability to collect loot at the speed of light or if he should be judging Jarlaxle’s taste in fashion which was alarmingly similar to that of Deau’s. In the end, he said nothing. One of the least conspicuous rings was picked out and he wore it on his left middle finger.

Jarlaxle also picked out a ruby ring, the rest carelessly stashed in his sack, waiting to be dealt with after a round of testing for enchantments. They were used to splitting the loot this way.

“Now, let’s get out of this annoying fly swarm of a city.” Said Entreri.

He was turning around to leave, when the Drow took him by the arm.

“Dear Artemis,” Jarlaxle blinked, “I never agreed to leaving. Now that Deau’s out of the way, we have all the time to stick to the plan and tour the place, what do you say?”

“I hope---” Another round of cheers.

Entreri cleared his throat.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten---” Another round of cheers. The assassin groaned in despair; he’s really starting to suspect the entire city’s in on some sort of prank Jarlaxle’s playing on him, all a ruse to distract him from bickering over anything Jarlaxle’s done.

There’s just the fact that he’s never actually won an argument against Jarlaxle, which means there’s really no point in taking the extra step just to mess with him.

The assassin usually prides himself on his self-restraint, but even then, with all the incessant but perhaps unintentional goading, he finally lost control. “It doesn’t matter! This is all your fault.” Entreri is rarely seen shouting in public, he raised his voice desperately, in an attempt to compete with the excited crowd, “I cannot stay for one more second in this wretched place!”

It wasn’t the Drow who responded to his outburst, but rather a series of steady footsteps. Entreri had just enough time to compose himself into a defensive position, when a plump, pompous figure appeared around the corner.

The fat man was dressed in festive attire, his great flannel cloak inlaid with sable fur, the ends of his silk dress shirt barely tucked into a tight, gold-plated belt around his waist, knee-high riding boots wrapped painfully tight around his plump calves, barely supporting what must’ve been a rather considerable weight. About seven or eight equally festive soldiers stood behind him in a semi-circle, like the tail feathers of a male peacock in full display.

Entreri immediately reached for his sword, but not before Jarlaxle cut him off. “The Duke of the township,” The Drow whispered into his ear, the broad brim of his hat brushed against the assassin’s hair, “now this, is your fault,” he added.

Before Entreri could protest, the Duke had somehow immediately noticed the ring he wore on his left hand, and broke into a hearty smile that squeezed the rest of his face together so that his eyes were barely visible.

“Mr. Deau! I’m so glad we finally found you.” The duke exclaimed, “I have just caught Wind of the message warning me of a potential enemy of yours appearing in the city, so I’ve brought the cavalry with me.”

As if he’d only now acknowledged all the parties present, he turned alarmingly to face the Drow, “Is this the dark elf you speak of?”

“Um,” Entreri found himself awkwardly caught in the role of the recently deceased bard, and didn’t know how to respond.

“Of course it isn’t me! What could I possibly have against such a lovely town?” Jarlaxle, thankfully, swiftly took over the conversation, “The enemy has been dealt with. I am, uh, Mr. Deau’s partner. Pleasure.” He patted Entreri on the shoulder and continued, “by the way, I don’t believe your lordship has ever met Dave Deau, correct? How can you be sure that my friend here is who he says he is?”

“His ring, of course, ” the Duke said, proud of his observations and completely oblivious, “it’s on all of the missives we’ve received from Mr. Deau, the wax seals and signatures are of the exact marking on that ring.”

Entreri stole a glance at his left hand, tilted his head ever so slightly towards Jarlaxle and gritted his teeth, “this is absolutely your fault.”

“Darling, you picked the ring yourself,” Jarlaxle blinked, “how is it my fault?”

“Have I interrupted something?” the Duke stood rubbing his stout fingers, confused by the men’s covert exchange of conversation.

“Not at all, my lord, how could we ever be interrupted by your royal presence?” Jarlaxle took off his wide hat and bowed, deeply and elegantly.

“If you could be so kind as to take your royal leave, we would be ever the more grateful,” Entreri seamlessly added, “greetings and goodbye.”

“Wa—wait! Mr. Deau!” the Duke rushed after him, “we are, of course, deeply sorry to have put you in any kind of danger here in our town, but you mustn’t leave just yet?”

“I am.” Said Entreri, right when Jarlaxle’s voice overlaid his with, “of course not!”

The assassin stared at the Drow, who returned a meekly smile.

“I really rather it didn’t come to this,” the Duke, with all his men, circled around them so that Entreri was cut off from the alley exit, “but Mr. Deau, your deposit of five hundred coins had already been sent to you, our residents are expecting a fantastically talented bard to be here for the carnival, everyone has been looking forward to your performance! To go back on our agreement now, you would surely lose more than just a thousand coins. Think of your reputation.”

It took Entreri a couple seconds to comprehend what was being said.

“I will not,” he started, “entertain a bunch of blockheaded bumpkins like some sort of clown!”

The Duke is struggling to keep a smile on his face in these trying times, his royal guards, however, are apparently much less civil about the whole affair. Most of them reached for their weapons, a few took a step forward.

“Let’s not rush to any kind of conclusions yet,” Jarlaxle stepped forward as well. He made a gesture to ease the guards, “my good sir, we are blessed with happiness to visit your gracious town, let’s not allow some ancient feud that has been disposed of to ruin our spirits. I hope you’ll understand our exhaustion after that little scare.” Seeing that the Duke was being coaxed by all this, Jarlaxle smiled a charming smile. He blinked at Entreri with a subtle hint of shrewd trickery, “my friend here tends to test the sincerity of others by displaying an inappropriate level of anger.”

Entreri was debating on whether or not to go off on him, when he saw the Drow’s furious hand gestures half-hidden behind his back.

 _I’ll deal with the performance._ Jarlaxle signed in Drow, his body was tilted away from Entreri so that others won’t notice the secret exchange. _Unless you plan to burn this town to the ground._

And so, having met the Duke’s inquiring gaze, the assassin nodded his head.

#

Whatever disapproval he had of his Drow companion, Entreri could never deny that the man had a certain luring charm. The Drow wore an exquisite short cloak that danced in the wind about him, the large feather in his wide-brimmed hat swayed and dashed with his every move, accentuating Jarlaxle’s slender, graceful body, sharp as a whip. The otherwise onerously extravagant, grandiose decorations that would’ve weight down anyone else seemed only elevated by his grace. In fact, the Drow mercenary attracted more attention than anybody Entreri had ever met in his life, and it wasn’t just because of his blood lineage and dress code. There was some kind of absolute confidence, some omniscient wisdom, a never-wavering sense of blitheness that set him apart from the rest of the world.

Even now, as Jarlaxle took center stage in front of the square to perform his so-called “magic show” that was just simple sleight-of-hand speed tricks that Entreri himself could’ve easily done with practice, there’s a certain kind of intricate showmanship that Jarlaxle possessed which he would not have been able to emulate.

With his dramatic gestures, aggrandizing speech, plus a few simple enough misleading illusions, Jarlaxle culminated the atmosphere of the carnival to its climax, almost effortlessly in the process. He flicked his fingers, sending two pieces of silver coins flying into the sky, halfway through the ascent, the coins have turned into two intertwining shadow wyverns of a deep royal purple, which continued to climb the clouds all twisted and shrieking, sending each other to the edge of the crowd’s visible field, where their synchronized attacks on one another finally came to an end with one last fatal bite that sent the wyverns exploding into specks of falling light. Purple fireworks filled the sky above the square, and drifted down onto the crowds like snowfall.

When Jarlaxle first appeared on stage, a discomfited hush had fallen over the crowd, his heritage clearly represented with his looks. But now, the whole town rioted over his brilliance, as if he was an Avatar of Mystra, a Chosen of Tymora, who would surely bring the wonders of magic and bliss to their remote, desolate city.

Entreri rarely experienced happiness in life as he has now, seeing how comfortable Jarlaxle was in this environment, he couldn’t help letting a slight smile break his normally stoic visage.

“The magnificent Deau!” Someone in the crowd shouted. Soon, everyone was joining in, in a deafening roar, the entire square began chanting Dave Deau’s name.

The assassin was standing at the edge of the stage, quietly laughing to himself, finding it amusing that Dave Deau’s identity have once more been misplaced, on Jarlaxle this time. These people were completely oblivious to what had actually happened to the poor man. The assassin looked over at the Duke, who happened to be observing him as well, somewhat awkwardly.

“What a wonderful performance!” the Duke scrambled his way up the stage, shouting over the din.

The crowd gradually calmed down.

“Mr. Drow,” he joked, “I know we were all excited for Mr. Deau’s performance, but now, I must suspect he’s been upstaged by his own friend!”

A sense of anxiety crept up Entreri’s heart, too bad he hasn’t figured out a way to stop all this without mutilating or murdering the Duke. 

“I am deeply honored by your praise, my lord, but Mr. Deau’s talent lies in another department,” said Jarlaxle, “the talent of musical instruments.”

And all of a sudden, everyone was reminded of how the Duke had introduced Deau during his opening statements. Thousands of pairs of anticipating eyes turned on Artemis Entreri.

For the assassin, he would much prefer experiencing the full heat energy of the sun from getting hit with a beam of Crenshinibon over his current situation.

#

“I hate you.” At night, Entreri sat at the foot of the bed, rife with embarrassment. He slid the ring off his middle finger, made an effort to aim at Jarlaxle’s handsome smile when he chucked it at him.

The Drow tilted his head and caught the ring with ease.

“Why? Just because I made you play the flute?” the mercenary leader laughed, “I sang for you, my friend.”

As the most renowned assassin of the entire Swordcoast region, Artemis Entreri had never learnt how to properly play a flute. However, the magical properties of the Idalia’s flute rendered it possible for any layman to produce music so enchanting that no mundane tunes could ever compete. If only to not add to the embarrassment of the assassin, Jarlaxle joined in and sang an exotic Drow song to go with his performance.

When it comes to anything relating to the tongue, as it became apparent, Jarlaxle can truly be an expert.

Although, he had to admit that the Drow mercenary’s voice had indeed soothed him. Or rather, what had soothed him was the fact that this was the first time he’d ever heard Jarlaxle sing.

“You made me entertain a mass of fools with a flute.” The assassin corrected him, “while you entertained them with your song.”

Jarlaxle made an exaggerated expression that marked a sudden realization, the winsome look on his face, all of a sudden, became ever so alarming to Artemis Entreri. He made an effort to stand from the bed, but the Drow beat him there. As Entreri looked up, a soft shadow from Jarlaxle’s looming presence engulfed him.

The Drow bent over, his lips almost touching Entreri’s ear, Entreri could feel them curling up in subtle intimacy to form a smile.

“Then play for me,” Jarlaxle whispered, his slender fingers swept across the human’s chin, “and I shall sing for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jarlarxle made a pun in his last line which inspired me to write the whole story, and which is so subtle (maybe not so subtle to native Chinese speakers) that I'm not sure whether even the perfect translation made by the dear translator Thirtyfiveowls successfully caught it:
> 
> Play a flute for someone (吹箫), in Chinese, literally means give someone a blowjob, though it is a Chinese traditional flute played vertically (箫), different from the flutes we usually see in western concerts.


End file.
